I lie with him
In the fields of corn.
And they will say ‘thrice-plowed.’
And they will say ‘fertile.’
But for now there is just the Daktyl.
My mother’s child,
My brother and my son.
They are going to be angry,
The gods who have clawed for my flesh.
Clutched and rent.
But for now there is just this man,
And his heady scent,
Is warm and human.
Oh, they will strike at him
They don’t know what has been forged
Here in this heat
The sweat and the dirt
But for now the future is nothing.
In my arms,
Is my first and greatest initiate.
I have waited too long for this
And my heart has loved,
Too much, too hard.
I am tired and weary.
But now, as he sleeps,
Warm against my breast,
The future is kindling with the fire of my mysteries.
And when I look to the darkening sky, I know.
Nothing will ever be the same again.